I’ve had a middle-age crisis recently – actually middle-age crises (don’t ask me how long it took to figure out the plural of crisis).
Anyway, the end result of it all is that I think I’ve actually come to terms with the fact that I am, perhaps, approaching Middle Age.
When this horrible thought first raised it’s unsettling head a few months ago, I was aghast: someone with whom I graduated high school, (and therefore was the same age), mentioned on Facebook that he was still in pretty good shape, considering he was middle-aged.
I read that comment and was immediately taken aback. I wasn’t middle-aged, was I? Middle-aged, to me, was a graying, heavy-set woman wearing Mom jeans and glasses with kids in college and a mortgage to pay. I’m a blonde! (And I’m sticking with that statement, no matter what my hairdresser says!)
Could I really be middle-aged? Of course my family was no help. And I quote my husband here, “What, you think you’re going to live to be 100? Of course you’re middle aged!”
According to Wikipedia, middle age is the period of age “beyond young adulthood but before the onset of old age; usually considered to occur between the ages of 40 and 60.” No help there.
They go further by explaining what middle age looks like: “Middle-aged adults often show visible signs of aging such as loss of skin elasticity and graying of the hair. Physical fitness usually wanes, with a 10-20 lb accumulation of body fat; strength and flexibility also decrease.”
Sounds fun, doesn’t it? Is it any wonder I am in denial?
Just to drill the nail into the coffin, I had a conversation with my sister the other night that I can clearly remember my Grandmother having with her sister.
“How did you make out today with your Doctor’s appointments?”
Really, we’re discussing doctor’s appointments?
I take full responsibility for this. Recently, I have decided to take better care of my health (remember that whole yoga kick I was on) and I made a few appointments with various doctor’s for some over-due check-ups.
In the past, I breezed through these and was on my way with barely a backward glance. Imagine my surprise when this time, I received not one but two callbacks saying they wanted to do some further tests, “just to be safe.”
Thankfully, everything came back okay, but it has been a stressful few weeks. I have spent more time in waiting rooms and doctor’s offices getting poked, pinched and prodded than I care to anytime in the near future.
Hence, the previously mentioned phone call!
What have I learned from all this? Wear suntan lotion on all parts of your body; stay up-to-date with your mammograms, and never look up the word “middle age” on Wikipedia!
So yes, I guess I am middle-aged. There, I said it. (And I mean it, I think!)
But that doesn’t mean I’m still not aiming for 100!
Life...As I see it!
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Monday, October 10, 2011
Anti-E-Book
I am Anti-E-Book, and proud of it!
Perhaps that makes me old-fashioned, but hey, I was that already so I don’t really care.
If I had to choose between a book and a computer, I would always take the book. I like the feel of a book in my hands as I turn the pages. I like to see how thick/thin a book is and wonder at its size. I like the feeling of accomplishment I get when I glance at the book on my nightstand and see my bookmark nestled in the pages. I love the smell of a new book, and the musty smell of old book stores and libraries.
Oh I know the arguments: the Kindle is lighter, the Nook is easier to carry/pack on trips; the e-books are less expensive.
I say hogwash. I will not to be brainwashed.
Why? You can’t collect e-books and display them on your bookshelves. You can’t get them autographed by the author.
Books don’t require batteries – one of the few items left in today’s world that don’t need to be charged, updated or plugged in.
I recently took my Girl Scout Troop on a camping trip. I told them they weren’t allowed to bring any electronics with them. I mentioned they could bring balls, playing cards and a book. Imagine my surprise when the first question I got was, “What about my Kindle?”
Really? What do I say to that? Doesn’t that seem to defeat the purpose of “getting back to nature”? (By the way, I told them “No Kindles” – find a good old-fashioned book!)
And what about our babies? One of my favorite pastimes with my children when they were younger was to sit them on my lap in their rocking chair in their rooms and read to them. Do parents today whip out their Kindle to read Good Night Moon? How exactly does a picture book translate onto an I-Pad? No wait, I don’t want to know.
You can’t cuddle up with a Kindle.
I-Pad? I don’t think so!
Just say “NO” to the Nook.
And I’m not alone. I recently joined the “Official Anti-Kindle Group” on Facebook. And YouTube has an Anti-E-Book Campaign (www.youtube.com/watch?v=J0rC925ubGw).
I’ll say it again: I am Anti-E-book, and proud of it! Won’t you join me?
Perhaps that makes me old-fashioned, but hey, I was that already so I don’t really care.
If I had to choose between a book and a computer, I would always take the book. I like the feel of a book in my hands as I turn the pages. I like to see how thick/thin a book is and wonder at its size. I like the feeling of accomplishment I get when I glance at the book on my nightstand and see my bookmark nestled in the pages. I love the smell of a new book, and the musty smell of old book stores and libraries.
Oh I know the arguments: the Kindle is lighter, the Nook is easier to carry/pack on trips; the e-books are less expensive.
I say hogwash. I will not to be brainwashed.
Why? You can’t collect e-books and display them on your bookshelves. You can’t get them autographed by the author.
Books don’t require batteries – one of the few items left in today’s world that don’t need to be charged, updated or plugged in.
I recently took my Girl Scout Troop on a camping trip. I told them they weren’t allowed to bring any electronics with them. I mentioned they could bring balls, playing cards and a book. Imagine my surprise when the first question I got was, “What about my Kindle?”
Really? What do I say to that? Doesn’t that seem to defeat the purpose of “getting back to nature”? (By the way, I told them “No Kindles” – find a good old-fashioned book!)
And what about our babies? One of my favorite pastimes with my children when they were younger was to sit them on my lap in their rocking chair in their rooms and read to them. Do parents today whip out their Kindle to read Good Night Moon? How exactly does a picture book translate onto an I-Pad? No wait, I don’t want to know.
You can’t cuddle up with a Kindle.
I-Pad? I don’t think so!
Just say “NO” to the Nook.
And I’m not alone. I recently joined the “Official Anti-Kindle Group” on Facebook. And YouTube has an Anti-E-Book Campaign (www.youtube.com/watch?v=J0rC925ubGw).
I’ll say it again: I am Anti-E-book, and proud of it! Won’t you join me?
Friday, October 7, 2011
STOP
I attended a meeting recently with about 30 or so other parents, mostly moms. The organization that ran the meeting uses an acronym. (I won’t mention the name of the organization because I don’t want to diminish the good intentions of these wonderful women who are trying to rally parents for a common good.) Its goal is to bring parents and the community together to discuss how they can work jointly to guide and parent today’s tweens and teens in this new, technology-driven world.
It was advertised as an informal get together where parents can talk freely and share their concerns about the many difficult issues our kids face in today’s world: drinking, sex, drugs, social networking, etc.
I had hoped to walk away from the two-hour discussion feeling inspired. I had hoped to learn what other parents were doing to address these difficult issues in their homes. I had hoped to feel a little better about the future.
Unfortunately, my hopes were crushed.
It wasn’t the organizers fault. It wasn’t the parents’ fault. It is simply the world in which we live in, or, to quote one of my favorite sayings: It is what it is.
Today’s generation of teens and tweens face many of the same issues that we faced when we were growing up: drinking, drugs, sex, etc. There is nothing new here. Unfortunately, when you add technology to the mix – cell phones, texting, Facebook, Twitter - things become a little more difficult.
There was one brave police officer at the meeting, willing to face and attempt to answer over two dozen frantic mothers’ questions. As he explained it, the biggest issue we are dealing with concerning today’s teens is texting - this immediate communication that can reach dozens of teens in minutes.
There were mothers there at all stages of life - some had children in middle school, just entering the fray; others in high school, in the midst of it; while others had a mix of college, high school and even middle school children (that would be me).
The comments I heard ranged from “All kids drink; accept it.” to “I read every text message my child sends out” to “Can’t we just ban kids from Facebook, texting and cell phones?”
Really? There has to be a happy medium here, doesn’t there?
Shouldn’t we give our kids some rope, some freedom? Must we read all their inbox messages and monitor all their texts?
My parents didn’t know half of what I did (Thank God!) and I survived. Do we, as parents, know too much of what is going on in our kids’ lives? Or is there no such thing as knowing too much when it comes to our children?
While I commend this group’s vision and their goals, I have to say I won’t be going back to any more meetings. Through the years, I’ve gathered a rather good support group made up of family and friends with similar ideals and beliefs whom I look to when I have questions.
And, while we may not always get it right, we are always willing to listen and change and encourage each other as we work our way through this battleground of teenage life.
And I’m thinking of giving us our own acronym: STOP – Surviving Teens and Overreacting Parents!
Care to join us?
It was advertised as an informal get together where parents can talk freely and share their concerns about the many difficult issues our kids face in today’s world: drinking, sex, drugs, social networking, etc.
I had hoped to walk away from the two-hour discussion feeling inspired. I had hoped to learn what other parents were doing to address these difficult issues in their homes. I had hoped to feel a little better about the future.
Unfortunately, my hopes were crushed.
It wasn’t the organizers fault. It wasn’t the parents’ fault. It is simply the world in which we live in, or, to quote one of my favorite sayings: It is what it is.
Today’s generation of teens and tweens face many of the same issues that we faced when we were growing up: drinking, drugs, sex, etc. There is nothing new here. Unfortunately, when you add technology to the mix – cell phones, texting, Facebook, Twitter - things become a little more difficult.
There was one brave police officer at the meeting, willing to face and attempt to answer over two dozen frantic mothers’ questions. As he explained it, the biggest issue we are dealing with concerning today’s teens is texting - this immediate communication that can reach dozens of teens in minutes.
There were mothers there at all stages of life - some had children in middle school, just entering the fray; others in high school, in the midst of it; while others had a mix of college, high school and even middle school children (that would be me).
The comments I heard ranged from “All kids drink; accept it.” to “I read every text message my child sends out” to “Can’t we just ban kids from Facebook, texting and cell phones?”
Really? There has to be a happy medium here, doesn’t there?
Shouldn’t we give our kids some rope, some freedom? Must we read all their inbox messages and monitor all their texts?
My parents didn’t know half of what I did (Thank God!) and I survived. Do we, as parents, know too much of what is going on in our kids’ lives? Or is there no such thing as knowing too much when it comes to our children?
While I commend this group’s vision and their goals, I have to say I won’t be going back to any more meetings. Through the years, I’ve gathered a rather good support group made up of family and friends with similar ideals and beliefs whom I look to when I have questions.
And, while we may not always get it right, we are always willing to listen and change and encourage each other as we work our way through this battleground of teenage life.
And I’m thinking of giving us our own acronym: STOP – Surviving Teens and Overreacting Parents!
Care to join us?
Monday, September 26, 2011
Writing
"Writing is 90 percent procrastination: reading magazines, eating cereal out of the box, watching infomercials. It's a matter of doing everything you can to avoid writing, until it is about four in the morning and you reach the point where you have to write."
(Paul Rudnick)
Well, it’s four in the morning, and here I am.
Procrastination; writer’s block; laziness; call it what you may – I’ve experienced them all. That, coupled with self-doubt, (the curse of creativity, I’m told), can be crippling.
And just when I think I wasn’t meant to be a writer - that perhaps I need to focus my time on something else - I get a sign. Sometimes it’s internal – a feeling I get that Rudnick describes, urging me to write – and sometimes it’s external – someone reads one of my blogs for the first time and calls me immediately to tell me how much they enjoy my writing.
And then, I sit down again, staring at this blinking cursor, and loose myself in words for a few hours. And I feel better.
Writing isn’t always easy, and it’s not always pretty, but it is always satisfying. Anne Lamott describes is perfectly:
“Even if only the people in your writing group read your stories, even if you only wrote your story so that one day your children would know what life was like when you were a child… still, to have written your version is an honorable thing to have done. Against all odds, you have put it down on paper so that it won’t be lost. And who knows? Maybe what you’ve written will help others, will be a small part of the solution.”
So I will continue to blog, even if it is just for myself.
And for those who follow me, I thank you. I’ve been told I need to figure out a way to advertise my blog better. (I’m not sure if those telling me this are just being nice, of if they really mean it, but I’m focusing on the positive these days and going with the latter!)
I have bought a book – Google Blogger for Dummies (I won’t repeat what my family has read into that title) – and signed up for a class, “Blogging for Business and Fun” with the hopes of learning more.
If anyone has any suggestions, please feel free to comment. If you would like to find out when I submit a new post but aren’t signed up as a follower – sign up dammit!
Just kidding! While it is relatively easy to create a Google account and become a follower, (if I did it, anyone can) you can also email me and I will keep you updated.
And now, on with the show…again!
Well, it’s four in the morning, and here I am.
Procrastination; writer’s block; laziness; call it what you may – I’ve experienced them all. That, coupled with self-doubt, (the curse of creativity, I’m told), can be crippling.
And just when I think I wasn’t meant to be a writer - that perhaps I need to focus my time on something else - I get a sign. Sometimes it’s internal – a feeling I get that Rudnick describes, urging me to write – and sometimes it’s external – someone reads one of my blogs for the first time and calls me immediately to tell me how much they enjoy my writing.
And then, I sit down again, staring at this blinking cursor, and loose myself in words for a few hours. And I feel better.
Writing isn’t always easy, and it’s not always pretty, but it is always satisfying. Anne Lamott describes is perfectly:
“Even if only the people in your writing group read your stories, even if you only wrote your story so that one day your children would know what life was like when you were a child… still, to have written your version is an honorable thing to have done. Against all odds, you have put it down on paper so that it won’t be lost. And who knows? Maybe what you’ve written will help others, will be a small part of the solution.”
So I will continue to blog, even if it is just for myself.
And for those who follow me, I thank you. I’ve been told I need to figure out a way to advertise my blog better. (I’m not sure if those telling me this are just being nice, of if they really mean it, but I’m focusing on the positive these days and going with the latter!)
I have bought a book – Google Blogger for Dummies (I won’t repeat what my family has read into that title) – and signed up for a class, “Blogging for Business and Fun” with the hopes of learning more.
If anyone has any suggestions, please feel free to comment. If you would like to find out when I submit a new post but aren’t signed up as a follower – sign up dammit!
Just kidding! While it is relatively easy to create a Google account and become a follower, (if I did it, anyone can) you can also email me and I will keep you updated.
And now, on with the show…again!
Monday, September 19, 2011
Things I Need to Do:
WRITE
Clean the cabinets
Organize my files
WRITE
Clean the bathrooms
Exercise
WRITE
Clean out the basement
Put away our summer clothes
Weed our garden (Oh fine, who am I kidding? I mean weed the whole yard!)
WRITE
Check in with my son and make sure he really is attending classes at college
Read my book club book
Tackle my sewing/mending pile (although by now, my kids have outgrown the shorts and shirts that need mending, so maybe I can cross this off my list!)
Update my calendar/address book/phone for a new school year
WRITE
Walk the dogs
Pay the bills
Due the laundry
Go food shopping
WRITE
Change the sheets
Browse the Internet
Think of things I need to do besides...
WRITE
How will I do?
Stay tuned...
Clean the cabinets
Organize my files
WRITE
Clean the bathrooms
Exercise
WRITE
Clean out the basement
Put away our summer clothes
Weed our garden (Oh fine, who am I kidding? I mean weed the whole yard!)
WRITE
Check in with my son and make sure he really is attending classes at college
Read my book club book
Tackle my sewing/mending pile (although by now, my kids have outgrown the shorts and shirts that need mending, so maybe I can cross this off my list!)
Update my calendar/address book/phone for a new school year
WRITE
Walk the dogs
Pay the bills
Due the laundry
Go food shopping
WRITE
Change the sheets
Browse the Internet
Think of things I need to do besides...
WRITE
How will I do?
Stay tuned...
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Ode to Elementary School
It’s almost over. After 15 years, and two different schools, I will be saying goodbye to the elementary school.
It’s been a long journey, filled with ups and downs, twists and turns. When we started, back in 1996, we were a family of just four, with a newborn daughter and a lot less gray hair.
I was entering my third decade of life, and couldn’t imagine how my son would find his way off the school bus and to his kindergarten class without me. (In hindsight, I realize it would be close to impossible for him to get lost, since you could see his classroom from the bus!)
I worried about those “older” 5th graders corrupting my innocent son with their salty language. I questioned the teachers, guidance counselors and anyone else who would listen on everything from dress code to homework.
Then, just as I was growing comfortable with my surroundings, a wrench was thrown into the plans; a new school opened, and we were redistricted.
It was September 2001, and my son was now a 5th grader. He would accompany my daughter, who was entering kindergarten, on the bus and protect her from his big, bad friends, only at a totally different school.
As predicted by teachers and administrators, he was fine with the change. I wasn’t. A new school meant new teachers, new rules, new office staff, new hallways, new everything. How would I adjust?
Luckily, we were blessed with a beautiful building, an understanding principal and a great group of teachers. I became more comfortable, more relaxed. She would be fine; the school wasn’t that big; homework got done; dress code was easy. The journey continued.
Then, finally, in 2005, I sent my youngest off on that big yellow bus. The birds were singing and the stores were beckoning. Freedom was within my reach.
I was an old pro by then, with the emphasis on “old.” I remember her kindergarten Open House. It was the same night as my son’s Open House at the High School. My husband and I split responsibilities: he headed to the high school, and I took the elementary school.
It wasn’t easy. As I sat through questions like “Do they get served fruit every day?” and “ What if they can only write half of their name?”, he was listening to discussions on drinking and college prep classes.
The times were changing – or perhaps I was changing. I was becoming disillusioned with the many rules (really, they can’t touch the walls at all while walking down the hallways?) and tired of the many fundraisers (there’s only so much wrapping paper one household can use!)
It was time to move on. With one child in college and one child in high school, I feel very old when I walk the halls these days. I look at some of these parents and realize I could very well be their mother.
I have spent 15 years standing at our neighborhood bus stop, in rain, sun, sleet and snow; 15 years studying thousands of words in those Spelling Connections books; 15 years sitting in those tiny chairs listening to well-meaning teachers tell me how to raise my child. I am ready to move on – as is my daughter.
So now, in three short weeks, we will officially be leaving Elementary School. No more recorder concerts, no more winter carnivals, no more pumpkin decorating nights – it’s all over. This part of the journey is ending.
The Kopp family is leaving elementary school. We bid it a fond farewell and a hearty thank you. Thank you for the care, the love and the memories. We’re moving on. Our journey continues…
It’s been a long journey, filled with ups and downs, twists and turns. When we started, back in 1996, we were a family of just four, with a newborn daughter and a lot less gray hair.
I was entering my third decade of life, and couldn’t imagine how my son would find his way off the school bus and to his kindergarten class without me. (In hindsight, I realize it would be close to impossible for him to get lost, since you could see his classroom from the bus!)
I worried about those “older” 5th graders corrupting my innocent son with their salty language. I questioned the teachers, guidance counselors and anyone else who would listen on everything from dress code to homework.
Then, just as I was growing comfortable with my surroundings, a wrench was thrown into the plans; a new school opened, and we were redistricted.
It was September 2001, and my son was now a 5th grader. He would accompany my daughter, who was entering kindergarten, on the bus and protect her from his big, bad friends, only at a totally different school.
As predicted by teachers and administrators, he was fine with the change. I wasn’t. A new school meant new teachers, new rules, new office staff, new hallways, new everything. How would I adjust?
Luckily, we were blessed with a beautiful building, an understanding principal and a great group of teachers. I became more comfortable, more relaxed. She would be fine; the school wasn’t that big; homework got done; dress code was easy. The journey continued.
Then, finally, in 2005, I sent my youngest off on that big yellow bus. The birds were singing and the stores were beckoning. Freedom was within my reach.
I was an old pro by then, with the emphasis on “old.” I remember her kindergarten Open House. It was the same night as my son’s Open House at the High School. My husband and I split responsibilities: he headed to the high school, and I took the elementary school.
It wasn’t easy. As I sat through questions like “Do they get served fruit every day?” and “ What if they can only write half of their name?”, he was listening to discussions on drinking and college prep classes.
The times were changing – or perhaps I was changing. I was becoming disillusioned with the many rules (really, they can’t touch the walls at all while walking down the hallways?) and tired of the many fundraisers (there’s only so much wrapping paper one household can use!)
It was time to move on. With one child in college and one child in high school, I feel very old when I walk the halls these days. I look at some of these parents and realize I could very well be their mother.
I have spent 15 years standing at our neighborhood bus stop, in rain, sun, sleet and snow; 15 years studying thousands of words in those Spelling Connections books; 15 years sitting in those tiny chairs listening to well-meaning teachers tell me how to raise my child. I am ready to move on – as is my daughter.
So now, in three short weeks, we will officially be leaving Elementary School. No more recorder concerts, no more winter carnivals, no more pumpkin decorating nights – it’s all over. This part of the journey is ending.
The Kopp family is leaving elementary school. We bid it a fond farewell and a hearty thank you. Thank you for the care, the love and the memories. We’re moving on. Our journey continues…
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Breathing - It's harder than it looks!
“Breathe; deep breathes; breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth. Breathing is the key to yoga.”
If that’s true, I’m in trouble.
I started my first yoga class the other day. I decided it was time to do something about this shape I’m in, or not in, as the case may be.
In the past (read “before I hit 40”), I was in relatively good shape. I could eat what I wanted, exercise when I wanted, and still fit into those size ** jeans. Life was good.
That changed a few years ago – no need to say how long. Suddenly, it was a little harder to stay in the shape I had grown accustomed to. But I didn’t worry. I would eat my way through winter, then eventually disgust myself enough to stop eating and start exercising again. I would loose those 5 or 6 pounds and all was good in time for bathing suit season. I was no Sport Illustrated model, but I didn’t totally embarrass myself at the beach.
When did that stop? I’m not exactly sure, but it has. I’m eating, more than normal, and frustrated with my actions, and myself, yet never enough to actually STOP munching.
I decided to take charge of my life. I needed a change. I wanted to slow down and regain control of my life and my body. (Can you tell I’ve been reading a few self-help articles?)
Enter yoga. I’ve taken a few beginner classes in the past and enjoyed them. I found a beginner’s class (easier said than done, trust me) at our local yoga studio and signed up.
Seventy-five minutes a day, twice a week, I would sweat my self into better shape, mentally and physically, even if it killed me. Turns out, it just may.
Wandering into the first class, trying to look casual, I was hit by a wall of heat. I soon discovered that 88 degrees and 50% humidity are the “ideal” conditions for one to practice yoga. (If the poses don’t make me loose weight, I’m assuming the fat will melt off me.)
I was encouraged by the look of the group surrounding me. Other than the 90-pound waif in front of me, who turned out to be the YTT (Yoga, Teacher Training – basically she was our model that the teacher used to show us the poses) the rest of the students looked like me – out of shape, nervous, and sweating. Things were looking up.
We spent the first few minutes getting to know each other, as the teacher explained what we were in for these next few weeks. She informed us that this was a beginner’s class, designed to ease us into the wonderful world of yoga. She wouldn’t push us and we were to forget what we couldn’t do and concentrate on what we could do. This was getting better and better.
I knew I wasn’t in shape, but at the same time, I knew I couldn’t possibly be the worst student in the class. (I had pegged the round, gray-haired Grandma in the corner for that title.) I was feeling good and ready to start the downward facing dog (the only position I could remember from past classes.)
The first pose was a little challenging, but I had it. But boy, it was getting warmer and warmer in that room. Unfortunately, I had forgotten water, but hey, the class was only 75 minutes, what could go wrong?
Moving on to the second pose, I realized I might be in a bit of trouble. The pose was fine, but they kept talking about our breathing. “Breathe in through the nose; hold your breath; breathe out through your mouth. Louder. Let me hear those breathes.”
I don’t know about anyone else, but as soon as someone asks me to breathe, I realize I have no idea how to breathe: I can’t catch my breath; I can’t hold my breath; I can’t take a breath.
And man, it was really hot in that studio. When I started to wobble a bit, I realized I needed to get out of there and get some water. On my way out, I glanced at Grandma over there in the corner, figuring I would see her sitting this pose out. Damn if Grandma didn’t look pretty good. What the heck?
The lobby felt like an icebox, and nothing ever felt so wonderful. I stumbled over to the water cooler, and attempted to fill a cup of water, smiling at the receptionist as I passed. That was better. Now I would be fine.
I returned to the studio as the group was finishing their second pose (I hadn’t missed anything? Really?) Moving on, we began our third pose: the runner’s lunge. At least this had us somewhat on the ground. I was doing well, until they brought up that breathing again.
“Hold your breath; hold it; feel it in your lungs; let it out, slowly.” Uh oh… I knew I was in trouble when those little black spots started appearing before my eyes. I had a choice: Go down and embarrass myself or climb over Grandma again and get out on my own two feet.
I chose the latter, muttering something about water again, and made it to the lobby and that blessedly cool air. By now, the receptionist wasn’t smiling. After all, I was using up all their cups and water. I didn’t care. I wandered around, pretending to be interested in the posters hung around the room, and tried to look as nonchalant as possible.
When I returned to the room, I just knew the class had to be over. For God’s sake, how many poses were we supposed to learn in one class? When I heard the teacher tell the class we were “already on the last pose of the day,” I almost cried.
Luckily, this pose was much easier – something about standing on our toes. And, then, darn if our time wasn’t up. One class down, only seven to go.
All in all, I think that went pretty well. If it wasn’t for the heat and the breathing, I know I would have kicked yoga butt. (Driving home, I realized that my breakfast of brownies and diet coke probably didn’t help my performance much either.)
But I’m not giving up. I invested in a gallon-sized water bottle, and I purchased some new, sleeve-less shirts and shorts.
Watch out Grandma!
If that’s true, I’m in trouble.
I started my first yoga class the other day. I decided it was time to do something about this shape I’m in, or not in, as the case may be.
In the past (read “before I hit 40”), I was in relatively good shape. I could eat what I wanted, exercise when I wanted, and still fit into those size ** jeans. Life was good.
That changed a few years ago – no need to say how long. Suddenly, it was a little harder to stay in the shape I had grown accustomed to. But I didn’t worry. I would eat my way through winter, then eventually disgust myself enough to stop eating and start exercising again. I would loose those 5 or 6 pounds and all was good in time for bathing suit season. I was no Sport Illustrated model, but I didn’t totally embarrass myself at the beach.
When did that stop? I’m not exactly sure, but it has. I’m eating, more than normal, and frustrated with my actions, and myself, yet never enough to actually STOP munching.
I decided to take charge of my life. I needed a change. I wanted to slow down and regain control of my life and my body. (Can you tell I’ve been reading a few self-help articles?)
Enter yoga. I’ve taken a few beginner classes in the past and enjoyed them. I found a beginner’s class (easier said than done, trust me) at our local yoga studio and signed up.
Seventy-five minutes a day, twice a week, I would sweat my self into better shape, mentally and physically, even if it killed me. Turns out, it just may.
Wandering into the first class, trying to look casual, I was hit by a wall of heat. I soon discovered that 88 degrees and 50% humidity are the “ideal” conditions for one to practice yoga. (If the poses don’t make me loose weight, I’m assuming the fat will melt off me.)
I was encouraged by the look of the group surrounding me. Other than the 90-pound waif in front of me, who turned out to be the YTT (Yoga, Teacher Training – basically she was our model that the teacher used to show us the poses) the rest of the students looked like me – out of shape, nervous, and sweating. Things were looking up.
We spent the first few minutes getting to know each other, as the teacher explained what we were in for these next few weeks. She informed us that this was a beginner’s class, designed to ease us into the wonderful world of yoga. She wouldn’t push us and we were to forget what we couldn’t do and concentrate on what we could do. This was getting better and better.
I knew I wasn’t in shape, but at the same time, I knew I couldn’t possibly be the worst student in the class. (I had pegged the round, gray-haired Grandma in the corner for that title.) I was feeling good and ready to start the downward facing dog (the only position I could remember from past classes.)
The first pose was a little challenging, but I had it. But boy, it was getting warmer and warmer in that room. Unfortunately, I had forgotten water, but hey, the class was only 75 minutes, what could go wrong?
Moving on to the second pose, I realized I might be in a bit of trouble. The pose was fine, but they kept talking about our breathing. “Breathe in through the nose; hold your breath; breathe out through your mouth. Louder. Let me hear those breathes.”
I don’t know about anyone else, but as soon as someone asks me to breathe, I realize I have no idea how to breathe: I can’t catch my breath; I can’t hold my breath; I can’t take a breath.
And man, it was really hot in that studio. When I started to wobble a bit, I realized I needed to get out of there and get some water. On my way out, I glanced at Grandma over there in the corner, figuring I would see her sitting this pose out. Damn if Grandma didn’t look pretty good. What the heck?
The lobby felt like an icebox, and nothing ever felt so wonderful. I stumbled over to the water cooler, and attempted to fill a cup of water, smiling at the receptionist as I passed. That was better. Now I would be fine.
I returned to the studio as the group was finishing their second pose (I hadn’t missed anything? Really?) Moving on, we began our third pose: the runner’s lunge. At least this had us somewhat on the ground. I was doing well, until they brought up that breathing again.
“Hold your breath; hold it; feel it in your lungs; let it out, slowly.” Uh oh… I knew I was in trouble when those little black spots started appearing before my eyes. I had a choice: Go down and embarrass myself or climb over Grandma again and get out on my own two feet.
I chose the latter, muttering something about water again, and made it to the lobby and that blessedly cool air. By now, the receptionist wasn’t smiling. After all, I was using up all their cups and water. I didn’t care. I wandered around, pretending to be interested in the posters hung around the room, and tried to look as nonchalant as possible.
When I returned to the room, I just knew the class had to be over. For God’s sake, how many poses were we supposed to learn in one class? When I heard the teacher tell the class we were “already on the last pose of the day,” I almost cried.
Luckily, this pose was much easier – something about standing on our toes. And, then, darn if our time wasn’t up. One class down, only seven to go.
All in all, I think that went pretty well. If it wasn’t for the heat and the breathing, I know I would have kicked yoga butt. (Driving home, I realized that my breakfast of brownies and diet coke probably didn’t help my performance much either.)
But I’m not giving up. I invested in a gallon-sized water bottle, and I purchased some new, sleeve-less shirts and shorts.
Watch out Grandma!
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